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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24260365">Gold at the End of the Galaxy</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyandsea/pseuds/theskyandsea'>theskyandsea</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Inception (2010)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Dubious Science, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Sex, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I promise, M/M, Space Pirates, also some physical, even if sometimes it acts like it, real science, this is not a horror story</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 05:15:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,482</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24260365</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskyandsea/pseuds/theskyandsea</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It is always night in space.<br/>It is so black, colours glimmer like mirages — an oil slick on the asphalt of the universe. Deep purples and blues in pockets of deeper nothing. If you’re awake too long, brighter colours come out to play tricks on you — pinks and yellows and greens in bands across the vastness in front of you. </p><p>Always night, and when you’re pulling every shift as the only crew member left on a three person ship, the exhaustion can turn empty space into a psychedelic dreamscape.</p><p>---</p><p>the space pirates au you never knew you needed</p><p> </p><p>Updates Mondays!</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Arthur/Eames (Inception)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>64</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>83</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I'm so excited to be posting this! I hope you guys like it!</p><p>This story has ten chapters. It's all done and it clocks in at ~17k and my plan is to post every Monday!</p><p>Enormous thank yous to Emma, my lovely beta, and LadyVader for her wild cheerleading.</p><p>Some warning: there is some mild body horror and horror tropes, but this is a happy story with a happy ending. If you want more info, message me here or on tumblr (theskyandsea.tumblr.com)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b> <em>I took the stars from our eyes, and then I made a map</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>And knew that somehow I could find my way back</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>Then I heard your heart beating, you were in the darkness too</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>So I stayed in the darkness with you</em> </b>
</p><p>
  <b> <em>— Cosmic Love, Florence and the Machine</em> </b>
</p><p> </p><p>It is always night in space.</p><p>It is so black colours glimmer like mirages — an oil slick on the asphalt of the universe. Deep purples and blues in pockets of deeper nothing. If you’re awake too long, brighter colours come out to play tricks on you — pinks and yellows and greens in bands across the vastness in front of you. </p><p>Always night, and when you’re pulling every shift as the only crew member left on a three person ship, the exhaustion can turn empty space into a psychedelic dreamscape.</p><p> </p><p>Arthur rubbed at his eyes and a system of stars danced behind them. He peered out at a  flash of blue out the window. It was a hazy glow, and if it wasn’t a product of his sleeplessness, it was too far away for his radar to pick it up. Possibly, with as close as he was getting to the edge of the Milky Way, it was a massive star on the edge of the Andromeda, blinking at him from 2 million light years away. </p><p>He reached down to the console to grab another energy bar and came up with nothing.</p><p>He pulled the bag away from the velcro keeping it in place and looked inside. It was empty. He swore and threw it away from himself, which was pretty unsatisfying as the bag was too light to go anywhere and just drifted gently around the console. He sighed and grabbed it before it could tangle in anything important. </p><p>Taking a look at his radar to be sure there was nothing in his way for the next few minutes, he set the computer to autopilot and took a breath. </p><p>He was on the run, being pilot and engineer and captain all at once to keep the ship moving forward, away from the explosions of the last job Cobb had gotten them into. Space piracy, while lucrative, was dangerous, made more dangerous with an unstable partner in crime. And now that Cobb had <em> fucking </em> left him to deal with the fallout on his own, he hadn’t had time for anything as non-essential as rest in days.</p><p>He was out of warp now and had put a quarter of a galaxy between him and Nash. The distance was enough to allow a bit of relaxation, especially since he knew Nash expected him to get lost on one of the planets, as Cobb had taught him.</p><p>But Cobb wasn’t there. </p><p> </p><p>He unbuckled from his seat, stretched, and looked around. He hadn’t left the bridge in days, and it was very obvious. A bunch of energy bar wrappers were clustered together above his head, the residue on the inside sticking them together. His normally pristine white flight suit was covered in smears and sweat, and it clung to him in uncomfortable places.</p><p>He gathered up the trash and paused by the side of the airlock. With three people, the ship usually felt cramped. Alone, it was too big, with lots of space for bad memories to settle in. With more than a little trepidation, Arthur left the bridge. The harsh fluorescent lights of the passageways flickered to life, flooding the corridor with light. All of space was timeless but nothing was more timeless than the inside of a ship. Nothing had changed. He half expected Cobb to float by with a new job he wanted to run by him. </p><p>Cobb had said that Mal haunted the ship. Arthur hadn’t believed him at the time (he hadn’t had the luxury to, too busy trying to keep them alive), but he could sure feel his missing crew with him now.</p><p>Pieces of trash floated out of his bag as he moved towards the garbage compactor, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He shoved the rest of it into the compactor and went in search of better food than energy bars.</p><p> </p><p>He pulled open the pantry. A little stack of dehydrated food, enough to last a week, a week and a half if he was careful, was all that was left of the year’s worth of supplies they’d picked up a month ago. </p><p>There was a sticky note attached to one of the empty shelves. <em> Sorry, </em> it said. There was a sad face drawn next to it.</p><p>Arthur ripped it off the shelf. “<em> God fucking damn you </em> Cobb, I hope you run out of fuel and die!” His voice echoed weirdly around the empty walls. He crumpled the note.</p><p>He thought of Cobb quickly shoving food and water packets into a bag, making plans to leave Arthur on his own and wanted to cry.</p><p>He let himself take one shaky breath and pushed down the emotions. If he only had a week of food left <em> and </em> wanted to lie low, he would have to be careful and find something to rob. A small ship, possibly, or an outpost. Which would mean turning around. After days of trying to put as much space between his and Cobb’s last fuck-up.</p><p>There were no colonies this far out. Some reaches had never seen a human, the only exploration done by ancient probes. There were no proper stars here, only the occasional massive hunk of lifeless rock left over from star deaths millions of years ago. </p><p>He closed the pantry doors. If he didn’t have much food, he could wait for dinner. He pulled his moleskin and pencil out of his pocket and flipped to his notes of outpost coordinates, trying to find something near enough.</p><p>Above him, the ship’s proximity alarm went off, warning Arthur that the ship was within 30,000km of a large planetary body, risking being pulled into orbit. He rushed back to the bridge.</p><p>A dark mass was filling the side window. Arthur turned off the auto-pilot and upped the speed, fast enough that they would avoid orbit and just pass by.</p><p>He drifted above the surface in silence, the only sound the engines and the radar pinging softly to let him know how far he was above the surface. </p><p>At 6,000km above, the planet filled the side and main window. As he passed and the planet rotated, a blue glow began to form in the atmosphere. It lit up the black ground, turning it into a jagged glittering landscape. Arthur let out a small gasp despite himself. It was a diamond planet, mountain ranges bursting up like shards of glass, low clouds of shimmering blue gas blowing around, beautiful and likely deadly. In the centre of it all was the source —a massive diamond volcano, pumping out great blue clouds of sulphur dioxide. </p><p>He watched the planet until he could no longer see it in the window. Then, he left the diamond planet behind and started searching for nearby outposts. </p><p> </p><p>Space, in reality, is both a noun and an adjective. Out in the black, especially on the far edge of the galaxy, it is the lack of anything that weighs on you, like you can feel the phantom pull of orbit in a system you’re no longer a part of. </p><p> </p><p>He drummed his fingers on the edge of the console as the computer sorted through the database of scientific outposts. Arthur was not overjoyed at the prospect of robbing a bunch of scientists — he wasn’t particularly picky, but he generally preferred his marks to be a little more unsavoury than a bunch of grad students working on their thesis'. </p><p>Now that he had passed the diamond planet, he could see a tiny dot of gold somewhere out in front of him. It was barely a pinprick, but he thought it might be getting bigger.</p><p>The computer dinged. There were few research stations in this part of the galaxy, with the closest being at least four days flying behind him, and there was no guarantee it would even be stocked with food. </p><p>It was entirely possible that he was the only person in this section of space.</p><p>The radar pinged. Just him, and whoever was in the ship ahead.</p><p>Out the window, the pinprick of gold had turned into a cylinder, and was resolving itself into a ship.</p><p>A ship was good. A ship he could work with. A ship would be stocked and smaller than an outpost, and he and Cobb had had enough of a reputation that he could probably commandeer it without too much force or backup. After all, he was Arthur, legendary pirate scourge, best strategist this arm of the galaxy, millions stored in off-world accounts. He was a force to be reckoned with, even alone.</p><p>He pushed the speed up a little more and set his course. </p><p> </p><p>As the ship grew closer and closer, he realised what it was he was looking at. The hull was entirely golden, rippling with layers and layers of fragile solar foil, the sort that had been used in the early age of space exploration. Along one side there were makeshift repairs in a strange brown metal, but he could still make out a giant painted M.</p><p>“Holy shit,” said Arthur, “It’s the Midas Ship."</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Thanks for reading the first chapter! Please leave kudos or comments if you liked it! I write for people to read and I love hearing peoples reactions. It really gives me motivation to write!!</p><p>Also, at the end of every chapter I've decide to showcase one of my favourite early space program podcasts/movies/docs, because they've all heavily influenced this story. Today it's the BBC's 13 Minutes to the Moon podcast (Season 1). This is an incredible series about Apollo 11 and the moon landing. It takes you through the audio of the 13 minutes between the Eagle leaving the command service module and landing on the moon -- it has interviews with people who worked on the program, music by Hans Zimmer, and is so beautiful it hurts my heart. Trailer is  <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p077ks53">here</a></p><p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Enter Eames, stage right</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again, thank you to Emma and LadyVader for all the support and betaing!!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eames pushed the engine cycle button again. Again, nothing happened. The ship remained dead, still and silent.</p>
<p>He supposed he should count himself lucky that whatever battery that powered the lights life support systems still had juice.</p>
<p>He had no idea how long the ship had been abandoned. Possibly the crew had only just left a few days ago. Possibly they’d been gone for a hundred years. Without gravity to make dust settle, the ship was almost as clean as it had been when it launched.</p>
<p>It was old enough to have actual buttons, with peeling labels on enough of them to figure out the basics of how the ship ran. Some of the labels had fallen off, and they hung in the air around Eames, moving gently as he breathed.</p>
<p>The question of the people shouldn’t have been bothering him so much. An empty ship is a ship that can be stolen much easier than a full one. (And with much less violence, which was something he was privately grateful for.) But there was something about the air in the ship. Something about the way that the labels sometimes moved even when he was perfectly still, when he was holding his breath. Like there was something, somewhere on the ship, that was moving.</p>
<p>Which there wasn’t. The ship was dead.</p>
<p>When he had found the ship, he had found it damaged. It was drifting, pilotless, the only sign of what had happened a jettisoned escape pod and damage from an explosion on the outside. When Eames had run a heat signature scan, it had been cold, no people anywhere. A ghost ship, alone at the edge of the galaxy. A ship ripe for pirating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He left the command module. If the ship was dead there was no use trying to take the whole thing, but there were doubtless things to scavenge.</p>
<p>The corridor that lead out of the console was narrow. Far narrower than he had expected when he had first docked. The ship was huge, with an unusual barrel-like centre, more like an early space station than a proper ship.</p>
<p>The corridor he was in was almost like a service hall — unfinished and unpretty. Wires ran under his feet, held in place by gaffer tape, one side of the wall just foil and metal struts.</p>
<p>He pulled his hair up so that it wouldn’t tangle. It was far too long, past his shoulders, the result of a distinct lack of deep space barber shops, but the length was growing on him. It had a certain drama.</p>
<p>As he brushed against the foil, he realised he was pressed against the edge of the ship’s hull — the corridor was narrow and curved. There were no doors to speak of, just cords and scaffolding-like structures. The air vents above him bulged in places, humming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He found a ladder. As he looked down he could see the corridor below, and the corridor below that. All of them curving, running along the whole of the ship.</p>
<p>There was no clue what was on the other side of the inside wall — there had to be a giant space in the core of the ship, with cords and vents running into it. Whatever was on the other was clearly important. His breath caught. Clearly, possibly,<em> treasure</em>.</p>
<p>He ran his hand along the wall. “What are you holding?”</p>
<p>The words echoed through the ship.</p>
<p>There were still no doors, just this endless stretch of corridor, and the thrumming of the vents above him. The air system was part of the life support function, and the filters, at least, didn’t seem to be clogged.</p>
<p>Despite the emptiness, there was a feeling of something alive — the air was different in a way he couldn’t put his finger on. Almost… fresher. Less recycled. Less stale.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><br/>Finally, the corridor curved one last time and ended by a row of doors. The one closest to Eames was labeled ENGINE in red block capitals. He opened it.</p>
<p>Inside was nothing like any engine room Eames had seen before.</p>
<p>Directly inside the door there was a small landing, no bigger than a couple of feet square. Beyond that there was a three story drop.</p>
<p>Pipes ran up and down along the wall, with handholds every few feet so that you could easily move around the room. One of the pipes close to the door had burst, and spheres of some sort of brown liquid floated around the room. One was by his face. He touched it and his finger came away covered in an oily substance.</p>
<p>But no oil you bought for a spaceship was dry like that, or had that strange scent — like dirt, like something living, like something decomposing.</p>
<p>He grabbed one of the handholds and descended below the layer of oil into the belly of the engine room. He passed the top of a massive mechanical press, fully plunged into its own pipe.</p>
<p>Midway down, there was a small door ajar on the press. He peered inside and was hit by the same strange smell of the oil, only far more concentrated. There were flaky brown stains at the bottom of the door, like old paint, peeling with time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he finally reached the bottom, he laughed. Someone had set up a pressurised still, velcroed to the wall along with some covered glasses and straws. There was still some alcohol in a bottle, so he grabbed a glass. Praying that his cup wasn’t full of pure ethanol, he took a cautious sip. He laughed again, and the room echoed his laughter back at him.</p>
<p>It was gin.</p>
<p>Spaceship gin.</p>
<p>He left his glass at the still and explored the rest of the room. Whatever this ship had run on, it had required a complicated process — pipes crisscrossed the space, coming in and going out of metal towers. Some of them had burst, and he came across more clouds of oil. Some of the burst pipes had been carrying a sludgy liquid that smelled yeasty — like a sort of beer, if beer was goopy and semi-solid.</p>
<p>The engine itself was almost a disappointment when he got to it. It was just like an older version of the one on his own ship. Nine cones, in groups of three, half in the engine room, half in space. The small end of the cones, the ends that were inside, stretched high above him. Narrow pipes connected them to the towers, surrounding each cone in it’s own cage of metal.</p>
<p>He used the pipes to bring himself back through the room to the door he had entered, leaving a wake of swirling oil in the quiet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Outside, there was a small airlock door on the wall opposite the Engine Room. The only one that Eames could see that led further into the core of the ship. It was unassumingly utilitarian — windowless, with a simple door wheel handle and two arrows, one pointing one way saying “lock” and one pointing the other way for “unlock”.</p>
<p>He tried to twist it. The door didn’t budge. He put more force into it, and lost his footing, the floor slipping out from under him. The door remained locked.</p>
<p>It continued to stay locked for the next ten minutes as he tried with more and more desperation. Clearly, whoever had built the ship had not wanted people to be able to get in.</p>
<p>Or, possibly, out.</p>
<p>He shivered. Above him, the vents rustled as air passed through.</p>
<p>Eames leaned against the door and caught his breath. And paused. The door was bowed out, as though something was putting pressure on the other side. He ran his hand along the seal. It was still in place, but the metal around it was showing signs of strain —bulges and accordion folds and places with tiny almost-cracks. Not cracked enough to actually go through the door, but weaknesses. If he could find a way to put pressure on them, he might be able to break the seal.</p>
<p>He was on his way to the engine room to find a screwdriver when his wrist alarm went off.</p>
<p>His ship’s motion sensors were going off.</p>
<p>Something was coming.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What could it be? What secrets are on the ship? Will Eames find the treasure? Tune in next week to find out!</p>
<p>This week in space history moments we continue learning about that first time humans landed on another planet! The 2019 documentary Apollo 11 is one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen. It's comprised entirely of real, beautifully colourised footage and audio from the mission, over half of which has never been seen before. If I were the sort of person who cried I would have been sobbing. Just -- actual video of the deepness of space, the moon colourised as described by the astronauts (yeah that's right! the moon isn't straight black and white!!!), the heart stopping moment of launch.</p>
<p>You can see the trailer  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RwNkfLxLG8c">here</a></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Two lonely space pirates exploring a ship</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>As always, thank yous to Emma and LadyVader &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As Arthur pulled up alongside the massive hull of the ship, he couldn’t help but sigh in awe. The foil covering it gleamed under his engine, reflecting gold and bronze patches of light into his command module. Even though he was still quite a ways away, his whole window was taken up by it. He wished Mal was there, or Cobb, someone who could confirm that he really was looking at a ship thought lost to time.</p>
<p>According to legend, the golden Midas ship carried the escaping king of a planet in revolt. It was also said to carry his vast wealth, which he refused to leave the planet without.</p>
<p>If you believed the story tellers, it was the gold that had led to the demise of the ship, the weight of it throwing it off course, tumbling past the end of the galaxy, where stars are millions of light years apart away from each other and distress calls too distant to be picked up.</p>
<p>Looking at it now, he realised that what he had thought was a giant painted M wasn’t an M at all — it was a support structure for extravehicular activities. Instead, he passed painted letters running along the side reading <em> P A S I V </em>.</p>
<p>He slipped ever closer, quiet as a mouse.</p>
<p>As beautiful as it was, there was something strange about the ship. </p>
<p>The near perfect silence of space, the stillness around him almost convinced him that the ship really was a mirage, or that his window had been turned into a screen.</p>
<p>That was what it was. Arthur’s ship had been designed to be stealthy, and he had spent hours working on the engine to cushion the sounds. But the Midas was even quieter. There was no light in the engines, no blasts of air to propel it. The golden foil was suspended instead of quivering with the force of movement.</p>
<p>The only sign that it wasn’t completely dead was the light shining in the command module.</p>
<p>Even that, when paired with the lack of anything from the rest of the ship, was ominous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At less than a hundred meters away, his apprehension grew. Usually when he raided a ship he was hailed over the comms, or just fired on for coming in too close to someone else’s space.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a docking port near the top of the ship and he slid in. His docking connector was outfitted with a special attachment that allowed him to match pressure and force open an airlock door. He grabbed his supplies and prepared to board, tamping down on the worry brewing in him.</p>
<p>Dead or not, there would still be rations.</p>
<p>If there <em> was </em> someone on it, there was surely enough food for that person to live.</p>
<p>His Launch-Entry Pressure Suit was hanging by the airlock door, next to Mal and Cobb’s empty hooks. He pulled it on and waited as it pressurised to his body. Once it had, he stepped into the connector, closed the door, and waited for the airlock attachment to do its thing.</p>
<p>The airlock blew open, and Arthur stepped out into the ship.</p>
<p>The lights flicked on, but no one came running. The corridor Arthur had entered did not, at first glance, appear to belong to an opulent escaping dictator.</p>
<p>Mostly, it was cramped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>+</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A bang, then a screech of metal on metal echoed through the ship. Eames picked his way through the roundabout corridors holding his taser, trying to find the source of the noise. </p>
<p>It got louder as he got closer to the port-side docking area, the opposite side of the ship from where he’d landed. He wasn’t sure yet if the noise was coming from something outside the ship, trying to get in, or if there had been some sort of structural damage on this side that was just collapsing now. The only thing he knew for certain was that something — something big — was moving.</p>
<p>There was another clang. </p>
<p>“Motherfucker!” someone shouted. It was a person. A person he could deal with.</p>
<p>Shaking out his hair from its bun, he slipped his taser into his back waistband and went towards whoever it was with purpose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>+</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arthur rubbed his head and swore again. The air vent he’d hit his head against sat there innocently, like it didn’t have a deceptively large bulge protruding below it.</p>
<p>“Hello? Is someone there?” a voice called out.</p>
<p>Arthur turned the corner. </p>
<p>A man was standing at the other end of the corridor. He looked surprised to see Arthur standing there, his plush mouth falling open in a little ‘o’. His hair billowed around him in loose curls and he seemed to glow under the harsh fluorescents. Everything about him was a little excessive. </p>
<p>He looked like he’d stepped from a Rococo painting into a spaceship. </p>
<p>He was inexplicably wearing an orange shirt that said <em> NASA Faked The Moon Landing </em>.</p>
<p>Arthur stared. </p>
<p>“Who are you?” He asked.</p>
<p>The man gave him a look. “Who are <em> you?” </em></p>
<p>Arthur summoned every bit of commanding energy he had. Cobb used to say that he came across as cold and unfeeling, and he always tried to take it as a compliment. People thinking you didn’t give a shit if they lived or died was a good look for a pirate.</p>
<p>“I’m Arthur, and I’m here to commandeer this ship.”</p>
<p>The man looked taken aback for a second, then smiled incredulously. “You’re <em>Arthur?</em> <em>The</em> Arthur? <em>Pirate Arthur?”</em></p>
<p>Now Arthur was taken aback. The man continued, “If you're <em> Arthur </em>, then where’s the Cobbs? I heard you never did any jobs apart.”</p>
<p>Arthur felt his face harden. “You heard wrong.” He pulled his taser. “Take me to your captain.” </p>
<p>The man laughed. “There is no captain. The ship’s abandoned. If you’d gotten here yesterday, you’d have found it empty.”</p>
<p>“Then what are you doing here? And, again, <em> who are you?” </em></p>
<p>The man came closer. Arthur kept his taser pointed at his chest.</p>
<p>“I’m Ezra,” he purred, extending a hand. </p>
<p>Up close Arthur could see the glittery pink lip balm he wore.</p>
<p>His lips were very full.</p>
<p>Arthur did not shake his hand.</p>
<p>Ezra said, “I’m a grad student. I’m writing a paper on planets that exist outside of star systems. I was collecting data when I came across this ship.”</p>
<p>“And… you just boarded it.”</p>
<p>“No, no. I tried to hail the crew, but then I saw the damage to the outside and thought they might be in distress, so I came to help. The door I pulled in at was unlocked.” </p>
<p>Arthur looked at him. There was something incredibly genuine in the way he talked, and at how much he projected his feeling of wanting to help a ship in need.</p>
<p>But there was something off about him. Or, there was something off about the whole ship, and he couldn’t tell if his wariness of the ship was making him question Ezra’s story more than he might usually.</p>
<p>Still. “And how does a grad student know pirates by name?”</p>
<p>Ezra brightened. “Word travels fast in grad student circles. Let’s just say, I’m a fan of your work.”</p>
<p>Arthur resolved to keep an eye on him, at any rate. He put away his taser. </p>
<p>“Right,” he said. “I’ll start with the command module. You lead the way.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>+</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once they were in the command module, Eames was more than happy to sit back and watch Arthur (<em> Arthur the Pirate!) </em> try to figure out the ship.</p>
<p>He sat, crosslegged, in the co-pilot seat, and marvelled at the two of them finding the ship within a day of each other.</p>
<p>Eames had long been a fan of Arthur. Arthur was known all around pirating circles as a reclusive badass. Dom Cobb was the face of the operation, but anyone with any sense knew that it was Arthur who organised and executed their missions.</p>
<p>Arthur was fiddling with the controls, trying to use the air guns that controlled tilt and pitch. He wore a little frown and a bulky LEP suit, sleeves awkwardly pulled up past his elbows. He had gotten rid of the helmet once he and Eames had started walking, since it was clear that the ship was properly pressurised, what with Eames in his t-shirt.</p>
<p>His hair was gelled back, forbidding but lovely. Everything about him screamed <em> professional </em>, from how he’d pointed his taser at Eames earlier to the deft way his fingers were working through the controls.</p>
<p>Eames felt a twinge of regret at lying to him about who he was, but it really couldn’t be helped if he wanted to get away alive and with some gold.</p>
<p>Eventually, Arthur let out a sigh of frustration and looked at Eames. “Does <em> anything </em> on this ship work?”</p>
<p>Eames grinned. “The oxygen seems to, and the lights. After that, your guess is as good as mine.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>+</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Arthur threw one last look at the controls and said, “Alright, you’re going to lead me to the crew area.” The command module had been a diversion, anyways. He didn’t need the whole ship. Just some food. And the gold, if it was real. </p>
<p>Ezra blinked. “I’m not entirely sure where it is.”</p>
<p>“Then show me the places you do know.” </p>
<p>Ezra led them out of the command module and down another tight corridor. The ship didn’t feel like the ship of a greedy king. The corridors they walked down were strictly utilitarian, designed without thoughts of comfort or grandeur.</p>
<p>They arrived at the engine room. Ezra looked around and gave a small shrug. “This is where I was when I heard you.”</p>
<p>Arthur walked further up the corridor and around a corner to a door marked CREW. </p>
<p>He pushed open the door. The room was tight, with four bunks built into the wall and a tiny kitchenette. </p>
<p>The kitchenette was actually fancier than anything on Arthur’s ship, with cooking utensils, a stove, and little foil space pots, so he supposed that kitchenette was maybe a bit harsh.</p>
<p>Ezra followed him into the room and started going through the cupboards next to the bunks.</p>
<p>Arthur found the pantry and opened it. Two small packets of long life dry noodles sat together on the top shelf, along with a jar of hot sauce. His stomach dropped. He picked up one of the packets and the noodles crumbled under his fingers. He checked the date, and they had been “best before” ten years ago.</p>
<p>His stomach clenched.</p>
<p>Still, old food was better than starving to death.</p>
<p>Ezra had moved on from the bottom bunk cupboards, and was floating by the top bunk ones. Arthur would have to do something about him. He still didn’t entirely trust his grad student story, and he wanted to be able to search the rest of the ship without someone who was technically his hostage hanging over his shoulder.</p>
<p>Of course, keeping a hostage meant feeding a hostage. <em> Damn. </em></p>
<p>He left one of the noodle packets in the pantry, but grabbed the other and the hot sauce. Quietly, he began moving back towards the door, slipping a mag-lock out of his pocket.</p>
<p>Just as he reached the doorframe, Ezra turned around. “Hey —“</p>
<p>Arthur slammed the door and locked it. Ezra banged on the other side, shouting.</p>
<p>Arthur added a localised frequency jammer. “Sorry, Mr. Ezra,” he called. “I can’t have you calling for help while I’m here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once Arthur had searched all the crew quarters for rations, coming up empty in all but that first one, and having seen no sign of any of the fabled treasure, He left the PASIV to try and get some sleep in his own bunk.</p>
<p>He put the single packet of noodles on the shelf with the rest of his food.</p>
<p>There was less than a week’s worth left. If he left right now, it would take days of Warp to get to another planet.</p>
<p>First thing in the morning, he decided, he would raid Ezra’s pantry.</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Will Arthur ever find food? Will Eames ever not be distracted by Arthurs awesomeness? Will Eames get out of the crew quarters? Will they go from lonely space pirates to space pirates in love? Tune in next week to find out!</p>
<p>This week we conclude our look at Apollo 11 with the movie First Man, staring Ryan Gosling and Claire Foy. This takes a more intimate look at the life of Neil Armstrong rather than focusing on the mission as a whole. It's beautiful and haunting raw. One note - I would recommend listening to 13 minutes to the moon and/or watching Apollo 11 first, in order to understand some of the more technical things that happen.</p>
<p>Trailer is  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PSoRx87OO6k">here</a></p>
<p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which Eames finds himself in a locked room</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hugs as always to Emma and Lady Vader xx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Eames continued shouting curses for a while after Arthur locked him in the room. He pretended he was cursing Arthur (and damn him!) but really, he was cursing himself for not guessing that Arthur would lock him in. If he’d just commandeered a ship, locking up the hostages would be the first thing on his list.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damn those old crew members for having such interesting things in their abandoned cupboards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But who could blame him for getting distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of them had an engraved </span>
  <em>
    <span>trowel. </span>
  </em>
  <span>On a </span>
  <em>
    <span>spaceship</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it was a nice trowel, too. A good weight, with a blade on one side and a serrated edge on the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was rightfully distracting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Arthur had been kind enough to leave him with some food, he thought as he munched on the dry noodles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t that he’d never had to escape being locked in a room before, but more that usually when he was locked in a room he was able to talk his way out of it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or he would stop himself from being locked in in the first place by stopping and/or killing the person trying to contain him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The door had been magnetically locked from the outside, so after a few perfunctory tries to force it open he set to work on the air vent above the bunks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames pulled his Swiss Army knife from his pocket and unscrewed the cover, letting the screws float around his head as he worked. The simple grating popped out easily, and he pulled himself up to take a look.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He looked into the mouth of the shaft and pulled back in surprise. Small drops of water hung in the air. They were tiny, no bigger than raindrops, shivering gently in the breeze coming from the vent. Eames’ stomach twisted with the wrongness of it, water where it never should be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But there was no other way out of the vent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>It’s just another strange thing on a strange ship,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he told himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just get the gold and go.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He pulled himself into the small opening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ventilation shaft was built large enough that he could just barely fit through it — scant millimetres of space between his body and the rough metal. The hum of the circulation system reverberated around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The darkness was made more dark by the way the occasional light from other vents made sure his eyes never fully adjusted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other vents were too thin for him to fit through, but they let him see where he was on the ship. He kept going, getting further and further into the ship.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was almost like swimming, using the walls to pull himself forwards. Though there wasn’t much water in any one spot, he was damp and cold, his hair sticking to his face and water getting in his eyes as it was blown into him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Floating there, in the wet dark, pushing himself forward, he remembered stories he’d heard of divers who explored underwater caves, winding along dark passageways with no way to turn around, and no way to know if they would hit a dead end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were stories, he remembered, of divers who’d come across the dead bodies of other, unlucky divers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In underwater caves, like in space, there was no bacteria to help decomposition, so the bodies would just float as they were, forever in the dark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He suppressed a shudder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still, there would be gold ahead, if he could get out of the vents.</span>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He reached out to pull forward and something brushed his hand. There was something in front of him, small and thin, reaching out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eames stifled a scream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached out and touched the thing again. It felt smooth, with little rounded protrusions. There was something… alive about it. It was flexible in a way that metal never was, and damp in a way that wasn’t plastic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like a charging cord, but firmer and rougher, reaching out like it wanted to touch him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to back up, but his shoelaces were caught on a bit of exposed metal and he couldn’t kick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t reach back either — there was no space to squeeze his arms back down his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he tried, his arms brushed against the wall of the vent. Instead of the bare metal he expected, they had papery protrusions, and a strange vein-like texture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He kicked harder to try and dislodge his shoelace. He managed to kick off the shoe, but the force of the kick sent him flying further into the vent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More thin cords whipped along his face, coming dangerously close to scratching his eyes. His arms bushed by the papery material. As he went forward, the papery things multiplied, until he couldn’t feel the sides of the vent. The cords tangled in his hair, in his clothes. The vent narrowed and narrowed until the paper-like things were pressing into him on all sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dampness that he had felt earlier was now a definite </span>
  <em>
    <span>wet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the air almost like breathing in during a rainstorm. The walls shivered with his breath like a living thing. He tried to pull back, but he was in too tight. The things in his hair held him in close as a grave.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He started to scream. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What the fuck has Eames found? When will Arthur come back? Should you google cave diving accidents before bed? Find out next Monday!</p><p>(except for the cave thing. don't do it.)</p><p>Short chapter this week, I know, but I promise this is the shortest one and all after this are much longer!</p><p>This week we go way back to Project Mercury and the late 1950s with the 1983 film The Right Stuff. It's been a hot minute since I've been able to see it (I think we got it from Blockbuster!), but I have such fond memories of it. It was one of the movies that cemented my love of space exploration (my holy trinity was The Right Stuff, Apollo 13, and the HBO miniseries From the Earth to the Moon -- those last two will be coming up later on!). It's long, at 3 hours 13 minutes, but if you have the time and the desire to know about the space program before we were sending people to the moon, this is the movie for you! </p><p>Trailer is  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElzIPn1pXWE">here</a></p><p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which treasure is found...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>So this is one of my favourite chapters ever, and I've been so excited all week that I get to share it! The idea for this chapter goes back to my very first notes when I was coming up with the idea for this fic!</p><p>Thank you to Emma and LadyVader xxx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After a few hours sleep, Arthur returned to the PASIV.</p><p>The second he stepped aboard he was accosted by Ezra’s shouts coming through the vents.</p><p>“Arthur? Oh god, please tell me that’s just you coming back!”</p><p>“Ezra?” Arthur called. “Where the hell are you?”</p><p>“Arthur, thank god. I’m in the vent. I’m not sure where. Arthur — there’s something in here with me.”</p><p>A prickle of fear gripped at Arthur. “What was that?”</p><p>“Just— just, please, come quick.”</p><p>Arthur followed his voice down the corridor. It echoed oddly, and it sometimes took a moment to figure out what direction it led. Every now and again there would be a rustling above him, whispers crawling out of vents and down his spine.</p><p>He walked through empty corridor after empty corridor. Everything looked just as he had left it the night before.</p><p>Everything, presumably, looked just as it had when the last crew had left it.</p><p>Finally, he found Ezra. </p><p> </p><p>Arthur looked up at the ceiling where his shouts were coming from.</p><p>It wasn’t very remarkable, just another stretch of vents and cords, and if Ezra hadn’t been making noise, Arthur never would have guessed he was up there.</p><p>He reached up, grabbing hold of a bundle of cords in one hand, and holding his screwdriver with the other.</p><p>Carefully, he unscrewed the nearest vent opening, right under Ezra.</p><p>He pulled it down. It took more force than he expected, like something was gripping it. He grappled with it and won, ripping it away.</p><p>Instantly, thick vines exploded into view, pushing out from the hole. Leaves scraped against him, dark green and paper-thin.</p><p>Arthur stared. “What the <em> fuck?” </em> </p><p>“Arthur? What is it?”</p><p>Arthur pulled at the vines, letting them float in the corridor. They tangled, drifting down and out like the tentacles of a slightly confused octopus.</p><p>Arthur kept pulling until he could see Ezra’s leg. His trousers had been rucked up from struggling, and there were little cuts and scratches all over. He gently pulled the pant leg back down to cover him.</p><p>Ezra flinched. “Arthur, is that you? What is this stuff?”</p><p>Arthur laughed. “You aren’t going to believe me. It’s ivy.”</p><p>“It’s <em> what?” </em></p><p>“It’s ivy. The plant.”</p><p>“I fucking know what ivy is, Arthur. But what is it doing in this vent, half a galaxy away from Earth?”</p><p>“How the fuck am I supposed to know that? You’re the one tangled in it, which, nice escape attempt, by the way.”</p><p>Ezra snorted. “Oh, fuck you. Can you help me get down or what.”</p><p>Arthur rolled his eyes, but took apart the rest of the vent, letting Ezra and more of the ivy float down gently.</p><p> </p><p>Ezra untangled himself and took a few deep breaths. “What <em> is </em> this place?”</p><p>Arthur looked at the vines. If they were growing <em> towards </em> the crew quarters he’d locked Ezra in, they must have <em> come from </em> somewhere. He walked down the corridor, unscrewing vent covers as he went, following the path of the ivy.</p><p>The trail led right to an airlock door, one of the few that opened into the space in the middle of the ship.</p><p>Ezra gasped. “There was a door like this I was trying to get through earlier. It was sealed, but I think we could get through if we work together.”</p><p>Now that the danger in the vents had turned out to be ivy, and not the mouth of some carnivorous space creature, Ezra was electric in his excitement. </p><p>Arthur was quiet about his excitement, but it was there too, simmering under his skin. There was treasure here, there was, but what <em> was </em> it?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ezra led him back to the engine room area. Arthur pointedly looked at the still-locked crew quarters door. Ezra winked, and the corners of his mouth pulled up into a delighted smile.</p><p>Arthur’s heart skipped a beat.</p><p>He schooled himself, tamping down his emotions. </p><p>He considered the problem of the sealed door. Ezra had been right — the edges of the door around the seal had warped and rusted, sticking the door in place, but creating a network of weak points that could be exploited. He pulled out his multitool, flipped up the screwdriver, and scraped away some of the rust. It faked away easily, the chips swirling around his hand as he worked.</p><p>Once he had cleared a little space, he jabbed the screwdriver in between the seal and the wall and wiggled it. Ever so slightly, the door released.</p><p>Grinning, he moved a little further up, but the rust got in the way and he had to pull out the screwdriver and scrape at it.</p><p>“If you have something to clear rust with, this would be faster,” he said to Ezra. </p><p>“Oh, but just I love watching you work, darling.”</p><p>“Or you could help and we can find out what’s inside.”</p><p>Ezra pulled out a trowel. “Do you think this would work?”</p><p>Arthur stared at him.</p><p>Ezra whistled a jaunty song and got to work on the other side of the door. Arthur shook his head to clear it and went back to work. <em> Ivy, </em> he reminded himself. <em> Treasure. </em></p><p>Once the door was clean of rust, Arthur used his screwdriver to break the seal. The door came loose with a little pop, and fell open.</p><p>Inside—</p><p>Inside — </p><p>In<em> side </em>, it was green.</p><p>Life poured out of the door. There was a whole world on the inside of the ship.</p><p>It was a garden, if you took away the world around it. </p><p>Everything was suspended in the air. Flowers bloomed upside-down, roots reaching up into pockets of rich earth. Golden light refracted through millions of water droplets, throwing rainbows and glares in every direction.</p><p>There was a pond made of a perfect sphere of water, cattails growing out of it like spikes, rotating gently.</p><p>There were whispers of leaves rubbing together. It was muted, the sound absorbed by the  other plants, not echoing, as sounds usually do on ships, with their hard surfaces and right angles.</p><p>Tendrils of ivy grabbed onto other tendrils, turning into webs of leaves and vines. Far, far, above them, one of these webs had attached itself to the wall and hung like a canopy over the floating jungle.</p><p>Mushrooms grew in vast networks, their thin white mycelium roots sewing fairy rings around clumps of fallen leaves.</p><p>They had clearly been left on their own for some time. Dead flowers drifted around, their bodies providing fertiliser for the fresh flowers that grew out out them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Arthur let out a guttural sigh. There was a sob trapped in his throat, and he had to close his eyes and compose himself. The soft undersides of leaves from a nearby plant brushed against his arms. He took a breath. The smell of the jungle, moist and dirty and <em> alive </em> flooded him.</p><p>He was never supposed to experience life like this. His life revolved around around hard things — ships and space stations and off world colonies. </p><p>Until now, that had never been a problem. A child of the stars, he’d grown up on ships and travelled to cities and star systems and planets made of glass.</p><p>He’d never known life could grow like this — alive and untouched and unmaintained, just existing. A pocket of the universe that was quiet but not silent, alone but surrounded by life.</p><p>He turned his face to the light and let it warm him. He could feel Ezra’s eyes on him, and he knew his face was showing too much, but he didn’t know how to put away these feelings. There was too much to hide under his skin.</p><p>He kicked off the airlock, grabbing onto vines, instantly enveloped by the lush greenery. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t see Ezra behind him.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There were little pinpricks at his ankles, catching on his clothes, and he looked down. Twisting among his feet was a bush bursting with ripe blackberries.</p><p>For a moment, caution wrestled with hunger. Blackberries had been a rare luxury in his life. He was reasonably sure the berries all but dripping off the bush were blackberries. But what if they weren’t. What if they were a poisonous berry that only looked like blackberries?</p><p>“Oh fuck. Not now!” said Ezra, pleasantly.</p><p>Arthur looked through the brambles. On the other side of the bush, Ezra had gotten his hair tangled in the thorns. He grinned sheepishly at Arthur. His mouth was stained purple from the berries, and Arthur’s stomach flipped. </p><p>He gave Arthur a little wave. His fingertips were also purple. </p><p>“Were you not worried that these would be poisonous?”</p><p>Ezra laughed. “Arthur, darling, I grew up on Earth. I was a boy scout. I know what blackberries look like, and I know what a garden looks like, even if it is a little unconventional. Have a berry, love, they’re delicious.”</p><p>Ezra didn’t seem to be having any reaction to the berries, and Arthur was so hungry. Ezra tossed him one and he bit into it. </p><p>He moaned. It was tart and juicy and sweet and tasted like home, like real food. The shelf-stable vacuum-packed food that Arthur had spent most of his life eating was fine, but it wasn’t a joyful experience to eat. It was cardboard pasta that promised the nutrients and taste of real tomatoes. It was five-year-old cans of creamed spinach crammed with only enough vitamin C to ward off scurvy for a week.</p><p>He harvested a handful of berries. Some of them burst in his hand as he tried to pull them away and the juices stained his fingers. He licked them clean.</p><p>He looked down. Ezra was looking at him, a smile playing around his mouth. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“Nothing. You just have a nice smile, is all.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After they’d gorged themselves on berries, they split up to explore.</p><p>At the far end of the room, painted onto one of the few surfaces not covered by vines or lights, were the words <em> Preservation and Adaptation Sustainable Interstellar Vehicle.  </em></p><p>Below that was painted the emblem of the mission.</p><p>It was a dark blue circle, outlined in gold, with <em> PASIV </em> written in an arc across the top.</p><p>The main image though, was of Persephone, holding a pomegranate, seeds dotting the black like red stars, Earth a pale blue dot in the distance.</p><p>She was painted life size, her eyes staring into Arthur’s, a slight smile on her face.</p><p>It was hopeful, this idea of leaving earth so long ago, but bringing so much of it with them. How long had this garden been here, alone and drifting further and further from anyone who could recognise it for what it was?</p><p>Whoever had modelled for Persephone, had they known what the ship would be carrying? Had they watched the ship liftoff, knowing that it wasn’t coming back?</p><p>Ezra called for him. Some new miracle he’d discovered, probably.</p><p>Arthur went.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey! A chapter that doesn't end on a massive cliffhanger! Tune in next week to find out what Eames has found!</p><p>This week's movie is Hidden Figures! If you haven't seen it already, why not? It's the brilliant and beautiful story of the black women who helped build NASA's space program. If you don't watch any of the other shows I recommend, watch this one. Seriously.</p><p>Trailer is  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RK8xHq6dfAo">here</a></p><p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which there is finally, finally a meal for Arthur</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hugs to Emma and Lady Vader &lt;3</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eames lounged under the massive leaves of a tree, laying on a net of ivy that had tangled in its roots. The tree was twisting and strange, exploding out in all directions, like nothing he’d ever seen on Earth. There was an odd familiarity about the leaves though. They were brown-green and thick, looking more like growing leather than something still living.</p><p>He popped a blueberry in his mouth and it burst, lovely and summery. It had been so long since he’d thought about seasons, how the time of year changes the hours, short and cozy in the winter, languid and slow in the summer. You let go of that attachment to the sun in space. Long-life fluorescent lights come on and go off, two shifts awake, one asleep, eight hours each.</p><p>He’d set his lights to wake him slowly as a sunrise before his alarm went off, but he hadn’t realised how fake it felt until he’d gotten here, laying under the soft grow lamps. They were getting brighter, swivelling ever so slightly, a million times closer to a real morning than anything on his ship.</p><p>He called for Arthur, who came slowly, pausing to smell flowers, to run his hands along branches, to push root balls away from his face. Little speckles of dirt swirled around him as he disturbed the air.</p><p>The greenery softened him, as did the open wonder on his face. He let his fingers dance along the petals of a peony, turning gently to follow it as it moved with his touch. Eames’s breath caught in his throat.</p><p>Arthur left the peony and saw him. His face broke into an incredulous smile, revealing his dimples. Eames couldn’t help but smile back.</p><p>Arthur came closer and Eames tossed him an apple. While Arthur had been exploring, Eames had foraged for breakfast, collecting a wealth of berries and fruits.</p><p>He moved to let Arthur sit next to him on the ivy and they shared the food between them, lips and fingers and tongues getting purpler and purpler.</p><p>Above them chillies like Christmas lights were dotted around. A clump of potatoes drifted by, dirt barely holding together.</p><p>“It’s so beautiful,” breathed Arthur.</p><p>Eames watched the shadows play across his face. “I’ve never seen anything like this.”</p><p>“It’s almost a holy place. Life where life shouldn’t be able to survive, but not only surviving, thriving and growing and taking over…” Arthur closed his eyes, trailing off.</p><p>He tried again. “The only plants I’ve ever seen are the planters they use on big ships. It’s nothing like this. It’s sterile, cubes of earth strapped down, separated into precise rows, planted for maximising health content, for being as inoffensive to as many people as possible. It is to this what a commuter shuttle is to deep space exploration.”</p><p>Eames stared at him.</p><p>Arthur continued, “It’s wild in here, I can feel it under my skin. I want to move, I want to scream, I want to lose myself. You can’t do that on ship, you know.”</p><p>He flung his arms apart. “It’s one foot in front of the other, don’t bump into anything or the life support system might go down, everything precise and exactly where it needs to be to get the maximum efficiency from the space. Which is good. I like things to be precise, I like to know what goes where and why it does what it does. But being here, I just want to scream, not in fear, just to show what I’m feeling—“</p><p>He was flushed, tears at the corner of his eyes, shaking slightly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I’ve never felt the need to talk like this, I just —“ He broke off, clenching his fists, tight and flirting with the edge of control.</p><p>Everything was warm, the air thick around Eames’ body.</p><p>“Then do it.”</p><p>Arthur startled. “What?”</p><p>“Do it. Scream. Cry. It’s okay, there’s no one here but me and I’m not telling.”</p><p>Arthur gave him a skeptical look.</p><p>“I’ll join you.” Eames smiled, teeth sharp and showing.</p><p>Everything was real here and nothing was. Was this all a dream, lush and vibrant?</p><p>The words spilled out of him.</p><p>“I hide behind masks, all the time. I’m scared I don’t know who I am without them. I’ve spent so long pretending I’m not sure that I’ll ever be able to take off enough layers to be sincere.”</p><p>He sighed. “I can’t just live, be myself. Everything is a performance. I don’t think I realised that until just now. I’m here, with you, in this beautiful place, and I’m so bare. all my feelings are right up at the front of me, the ones I usually push down, but every time I find something new I feel so fucking much.”</p><p>Gesturing wildly, he said, “I’ve never let myself miss Earth. Ever. I left years ago, and I left everything behind, I was sick of the world, I wanted adventure and travel, and I’ve seen so many things, but until an hour ago I’d forgotten the feeling of blackberry thorns getting stuck to your fingers when you pick them, and the soft smell of flowers, and how being with living things that have no expectations for you, who can’t tell and don’t care about the difference between you being you and you playing a part can be so freeing, and I think all my feelings are so much bigger than I’ve let them be.”</p><p>His voice broke. “I don’t want to forget who I am.”</p><p>Arthur gave him privacy to wipe away a few tears.</p><p>After a moment, still watery but a little more composed, Eames said, “Let’s scream the ship down, love.”</p><p>And they did, letting out all the emotion they could no longer contain in their bodies, the sound absorbed by the plants, who wouldn’t judge.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>After, voices raw, they laid back across the ivy. The leaves tickled Eames’ neck but he was too tired to care.</p><p>“I think I want to stay here a while,” said Arthur.</p><p>Eames turned to look at him. “Does this mean I’m still your hostage? You can tie me up, if you like.”</p><p>Arthur rolled his eyes. “No, you can leave, continue your research.”</p><p>A pang of remorse went through Eames. He’d forgotten Arthur didn’t know who he was. Always fake, always hiding, even when he’d just spilled his guts for Arthur to examine.</p><p>Arthur continued, “As long as you don’t tell anybody about this.” He turned to look Eames in the eyes. “If you do, I will know.”</p><p>He went back to watching the branches sway above them.</p><p>He was lovely, dappled sunlight turning his veiled threat into something fond and easy.</p><p>Eames couldn’t imagine ever sharing the secret of this room. He said, “Arthur, I don’t want to leave. I’m not ready to go back to my life. I want to stay. I have nowhere to be. We can fix the ship together, if you’ll let me.”</p><p>Dubiously, Arthur said, “Do you know anything about engine repair? Or gardening?”</p><p>“Of course I do! I’ve had to do emergency repairs on my ship all the time. Plus, I make great eye candy hanging around, all sweaty and oily. Really, I’m great for morale.”</p><p>Arthur made a face at him, but when he looked away Eames could see a tiny dimple in his cheek.</p><p>Eames grinned back, sleepy and full and exhausted from having emotions. The sunlights were warm on his skin and he leaned back, letting himself drift.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Later, once they’d rested until they had enough armour to face the universe again, Eames made lunch.</p><p>He’d tasked Arthur with collecting tomatoes, which Arthur had assured him he could recognise, and then started scavenging himself.</p><p>When he’d been a child and had his hands in the earth every day, he’d helped his mother in their allotment. His mother had had the ability to coax life out of everything he’d touched, a magic trick Eames had thought was normal until he’d grown up and discovered that life did not come naturally to everyone else.</p><p>The point was this: every year in late summer, Eames and his mother would head out to the allotment and come home laden with huge squashes, vine tomatoes, and a basketful of herbs. His mother would half the squash, put it in the oven, and an hour later it would turn to spaghetti. This, Eames did see as a magic trick.</p><p>Luckily, it was a magic trick easy enough to pick up.</p><p>In the kitchen, Eames shoved all of their harvest into the cupboard to stop it from floating away.</p><p>Arthur strapped in to one of the chairs by the table and wrote in his notebook, sorting out what they’d have to do to fix the ship. There was a quiet domesticity to the kitchen, Arthur occasionally mumbling to himself, never quite letting Eames forget he was in the room, but not forcing him to make conversation.</p><p>It had been so long since Eames had just been with another person, not trying to con them or steal from them, just two people, working on separate things together.</p><p>He found a cutting board and knife and prepared the squash. By some miracle, the oven was working, so he was able to get it in to roast.</p><p>The heat of the oven warmed Eames thighs where they pressed against it.</p><p>He set about making a tomato sauce. It was a long way from the ease of his mother’s kitchen, with bits of jelly and seeds making their escape and hovering around the room, whirling away from him as he chased them.</p><p>He could feel the weight of Arthur watching him. When he looked, there was a tiny smile playing at the corner of his mouth.</p><p>After stalking each bit of tomato, he managed to capture everything in a pot and set it to cook.</p><p>He was more careful with the herbs, finding a plastic bag to cover the cutting board and dicing them in it. When he finished, his hands smelled of basil and thyme and rosemary and home. He added the herbs to the tomatoes and let everything simmer away.</p><p>Arthur was still looking at him. Eames was caught in his gaze, unable to move.</p><p>After a moment, once he had taken a breath to fortify himself, he took a careful spoonful of sauce and held it out for Arthur to taste.</p><p>Arthur leaned forward, still looking at Eames. He blew gently to cool down the sauce, his breath ghosting over Eames’ fingers, his hand on Eames’ arm to steady it. His hand was a thousand times warmer than the oven.</p><p>Arthur wrapped his lips around the spoon.</p><p>His face crinkled in pleasure and he sighed ever so slightly.</p><p>Eames couldn’t look away. He looked at Arthur, helpless, and just thought, Oh, no.</p><p>He clenched and unclenched his free hand, trying to get rid of the restless energy under his skin, stopping himself from just leaning over and kissing Arthur, replacing the spoon with his lips.</p><p>Arthur pulled away. “It’s good.”</p><p>Eames took back the spoon and went back to the stove.</p><p>An hour later they had a home cooked meal.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Well isn't that nice! See you next week when we learn about how little I know about aerospace engineering!</p><p>If you're wondering, spaghetti squash really is that easy (and generally relatively cheap!)! All you do is cut it in half lengthwise, scoop out the seeds, place cut side down on a baking tray and cook 45 minutes at 350f/180c. When it's done use forks to do a pulled pork sort of motion to separate the spaghetti bits and top with your favourite tomato sauce! I usually get 4 servings out of one medium squash but YMMV.</p><p>/cookingtime</p><p>This week in Space Programming we go back to the movie that made me obsessed with space. That's right, it's Apollo 13 time! I have probably watched this movie more than any others in my life. If you don't know it, it follows (pretty faithfully) the story of the Apollo 13 mission. It was supposed to be a routine mission (as routine as landing on the moon ever is), but a few days into it there was an explosion on board. The struggle to get the 3 astronauts home safely was intense and like nothing NASA has faced before. It's incredibly exciting and emotional! A cool tidbit: all of the space scenes were actually shot in zero gravity in 25 second chunks using NASA's 'vomit comet' plane.<br/>Also, it stars Tom Hanks, which is a good reason to watch any movie!</p><p>Trailer is  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KtEIMC58sZo">here</a></p><p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>In which we come back to gin and discover strange engineering.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank yous to Emma and Lady Vader!</p>
<p>Note: there is some mild body horror in this section.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>After lunch, Arthur set out for the engine room. Eames followed for lack of any concrete plan. For all that he had boasted his engineering prowess, it was mostly limited to hitting things until they sounded better and going to service stations when hitting didn’t work.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur immediately went off to do something technical and mysterious with the tanks. He did not appear to need Eames’ assistance with this, however, so Eames busied himself with the one part of the engine room he absolutely understood: the gin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A lifetime ago, Eames’s aunt had been a secret lush. She’d lived a train ride away, tucked in a little cottage by the sea, where she’d built her own tiny distillery. Glass bottles, each carefully labeled, were lined up like soldiers in cupboards, drying bundles of herbs hanging from every exposed beam.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Eames had been eight, his aunt had sat him on the counter next to the stove and let him mash the juniper berries with cardamon and coriander. She’d helped his small hands wrap the mash in soft cheesecloth and push it down the long column of the still and painstakingly explained the process, answering every question he could come up with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he had been ten, she’d let him taste his first glass, only giving him a single sip and swearing him to secrecy. It had burned, and the thrill came from the hiding, the ritualistic way she’d prepared the drink, the wink she’d thrown him after he’d coughed and spluttered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Their secret glasses had been their thing, going from sip to sip as Eames had gotten older and understood the point of drinking and could appreciate the subtle flavours his aunt had preferred.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, it had been their thing until Eames had grown bored of the world and left for the promise of better adventures in space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head to clear the memories. No point in remembering things that only make you sad.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned his focus to the velcroed still. It looked like it had once been normal, but someone had gutted it, plunging copper tubing right to the bottom of the pot and adding hand suction pumps.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took him a moment, but it made sense. Boiling water in space is a process, without gravity to separate gases from liquids. but alcohol and water have different boiling points, and if you could suck out the mass of boiling alcohol… It was very clever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Velcroed underneath the still was a 2 gallon bucket, with </span>
  <em>
    <span>fermentation time baby</span>
  </em>
  <span> scrawled across it in sharpie. Eames snorted a laugh. He pulled it off the wall and went to the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Be right back,” he shouted to Arthur, who waved a dismissive hand, still engrossed in the machinery.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Entering the nursery hit him nearly as hard as it had the first time. When he dreamt of Earth, it was like this. The feeling of life around him. Drops of rain. Dirt and roots and leaves and flowers, the concept of a forest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to close his eyes so he could remember why he’d come in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gin. Arthur. Making drinks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pushed away from the treed area and towards a shimmering sea of grains, each stalk dancing on its own or tangled with neighbours. They were in all stages of life, green shoots and golden stalks heavy with seeds. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a stroke of luck, he found a clump of barley seeds just beginning to sprout. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This is what makes malted barley malty,</span>
  </em>
  <span> he could hear his aunt saying. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The sprouting gets the starch of the grain ready to turn into sugar and gin.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He collected it, waving his hand along the tiny seeds, coaxing them into his bucket. Then he kicked away from the wheat field, sending stalks flying around in the current.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He found the potatoes by the tree they’d eaten berries under, and harvested a few, dusting them off and adding them to the bucket.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the kitchen, he boiled and mashed them, then mixed them with the barley and some water. It was harder in the microgravity than on Earth, and he wound up basically shoving gloopy bits of the potato and barley mixture into the sphere of water. He captured the whole thing in the bucket, closed the lid and brought it back to its spot at the still.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be a week before it would be ready to be infused, but until it was ready he and Arthur could share the last bottles of the old crew.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked over at him. He was surveying his work on the engines, white suit zipped down, arms tied at the waist. Underneath, he was in a tank top that clung to him with sweat, his hair curling up at the edges.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames had to close his eyes in order to take a breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looked over, saw him and lit up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames went over. Arthur’s smile was wide and excited and so, so, breathtaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ezra,” Arthur said, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ezra</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the engines run on biofuel. These tanks— they’re converters, composting plant matter and turning it into solid fuel. Ezra — I’ve never seen anything like this. I think I can get it up and running, if only I can figure out what they use to patch up the damage on the outside on the thrusters… if we can just clear the dried gunk from the filters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His use of </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span> nestled into Eames’ heart, warming him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He clapped a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and, aiming for affable, he said, “I can clean the tank filters, if you want.” His voice wavered a little on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>want.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur grinned. “That would be such a help.” He was still focused on the tanks, running his hand along aluminium struts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames grabbed a cloth and left before he could do something ill-advised.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Cleaning the filters turned out to be a good idea. It was dirty and physical work, scraping years of dried sludge off the delicate filters, taking care not to punch holes lest they have to figure out how to make new ones. It all forced him to think about anything but Arthur and the way his shoulder had felt under his palm, warm and hard with muscle but soft with skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Cleaning took the better part of two hours, and by the end Eames was a mess of sweat and gunk, but the filters were working again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned against the side of the tank and took a breath, then climbed out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused. The lip of the tank, instead of being aluminium like the rest of it, was covered in a sort of leathery-metal patches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could investigate, Arthur called for him, motioning from him to get out of the tank.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames went.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The engine rumbled to life, louder than anything Eames had heard. The very air rippled around them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames grinned at Arthur, both of them covering their ears, vibrating. Arthur turned it off and they dropped their hands. He looked so happy and satisfied and Eames just wanted him, his clever mind, his muscled arms, just him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur leaned into his chest and Eames brought his arms around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur whispered, “Ezra…”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Guilt stabbed at Eames. He let go of Arthur and went back to the fuel tank to take another look at the weird leathery metal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel Arthur watching him, eyes boring into his back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ignored it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames ran his hand along the metal patchwork. Something tickled his mind. He’d seen this before.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a closer look, then laughed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The “metal” patchwork was made of the leaves of the strange tree they’d sat under in the nursery, impossibly thin layers of it building up to something air tight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked around the ship, and suddenly he could see it everywhere — patching up the support struts, wrapping around beams, covering dented pipes.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He took off to the nursery and pulled off a leaf from the tree. The underside of it was sticky and resin coated, and it was thin and flexible in his hand. He pulled herself to the nearest wall and flattened the leaf against it. Instantly it stuck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He tried to pull it back, but it clung, moulded to the wall, looking much like the patches everywhere else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He went back to the engine room and shouted, “Arthur! I think I know how we can fix the thrusters!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur went to get his Extravehicular Activity suit with some trepidation. It wasn’t that he doubted Ezra, and he’d seen the same leafy patches on the outside of the ship when he’d approached, but it felt far fetched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe he was just confused about Ezra. His eyes had been so gentle and he’s been so warm pressed against Arthur, but he’d pulled away so fast and left him standing alone in the engine room, cold and confused and disappointed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or, a treacherous voice whispered, he was agitated because he remembered Mal, her face as she’d died, her scream over the comm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shoved the memories away. He needed to focus on getting ready.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled out the bulky EVA suit and bungee corded it together in a bundle with the gloves, helmet, and boots. Dragging it behind him like an oversized balloon, he went to meet Ezra in the engine room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The suit-balloon kept bumping him in the back as he walked, every other step reminding him that the last time he’d pulled out this suit, Mal had been alive.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a corner of the engine room, there was a pressurised room with a hatch leading out into space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur stood in the door, looking at Ezra in his suit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was standing there, looking at Arthur with an excited smile, a bucket of leaves next to him and his gloves and helmet floating just above his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of a sudden, all he could see was Mal, how she’d smiled in the same way when they’d gotten ready for their last EVA. It had only been to make a little adjustment to the ship, but Mal had adored being in space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d been joyful when they’d left the hatch, turning graceful somersaults in the emptiness while Arthur got to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been during one of those somersaults that she’d gotten her suit caught on a bolt. The fabric, worn with so many uses, had torn right along a seam, exposing Mal to the universe</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d only had time to look at Arthur in horror and scream once before the vacuum took her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could still see her face distorted and huge, pressed up against the glass of her helmet. He’d lowered her sun visor so that Cobb wouldn’t have to live with her mangled body as the last image he had of his wife.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was still out there, too. Floating forever in her beloved void, never changing, never decaying. They’d given her a burial-in-space, Cobb and Arthur the only witnesses.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a general rule, he tried not to think about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He braced himself against the door, forcing the choking fear back down his throat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ezra looking at him with concern.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shut his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a freak accident. He’d redesigned his and Cobb’s suits after, reenforcing the fabric. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn’t happen again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wouldn’t happen again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra quietly covered Arthur’s hand with his own. Together, they breathed, in and out, in and out, until Arthur calmed down enough that he could look at Ezra and not see Mal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra didn’t ask if he was okay, just gave him a long steadying look, and pulled him in for a hug.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur buried his face in Ezra’s suit and breathed through the remaining lingering shudders.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he was steady on his feet again, he pressed his forehead to Ezra’s neck. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They pulled apart. Ezra worked at untangling Arthur’s suit and helped him into it, fingers whispering up zippers and smoothing wrinkles, always touching, hands solid and sure against Arthur’s body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Once they were both fully suited up, they attached their lifelines to the ship and opened the hatch.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Outer space is cold. It’s cold even through the layers and layers of an EVA suit, and the cold grounded Arthur, keeping his mind in his body as they attached themselves to the side of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV. </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was nothing but the ship, the black, and Ezra. Them on one side, the rest of the galaxy on the other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The outside of the ship was papered with the same leaves that Ezra had found, a million little fixes keeping everything running. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur hooked himself to a handrail and ran his glove along one of the repairs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra smiled at him and said something, but his breath fogged his helmet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comm link crackled to life. “I’m going to try the leaves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra opened his bucket of leaves and pulled one out. He flattened it against a rusted hole in a thruster and rubbed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he pulled his hand away, the leaf had bonded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes!” shouted Ezra through the comm. He moved up, fixing the line of holes that had prevented the thruster from working properly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he reached the end of the thruster, he looked back down at Arthur and the perfect patches he’d made and laughed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur couldn’t tear his eyes from the way Ezra’s lips curled up with joy. He floated up to join him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were side by side, and all Arthur could do was look at him. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ezra, in a nebulous overwhelming sort of way. They were there, just the two of them in this giant universe, dwarfed by the ship, by the galaxy they were such small parts in. Hidden away in a nearly empty pocket of space and time, but they had </span>
  <em>
    <span>found each other.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra held out a hand, pulling Arthur close so they could examine his mending skills, but all Arthur could look at was his face. He was caught between the ship and Ezra, could feel the pressure of his touch through his suit. His head swayed forward and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thunk</span>
  </em>
  <span> of helmet hitting helmet echoed through him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looked and Ezra’s eyes were on his, his glove pressed against the place on the helmet where Arthur’s cheek would have been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comm link cracked to life, but neither of them said anything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stayed like that for a precious moment, until Arthur shuddered and ducked under Ezra’s arm, trying to clear his head, but all he could think was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ezra, Ezra, Ezra.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked along the line of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all of its golden foil and greenish-brown patches.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Jutting out of a port not too far away was Ezra’s ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur froze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew this ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen</span>
  </em>
  <span> this ship, even if he’d never gotten a good look at its pilot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra came up behind him and followed his gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comm link crackled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said, “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>God.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And after two lovely weeks of fluff, we return to the plot! Why does Arthur recognise Eames' ship? Who is Eames, really? Will they ever actually manage to kiss? Find out next week!</p>
<p>This week we continue our look at Apollo 13 with season two of 13 Minutes to the Moon (BBC Podcast)! The 50th anniversary of the accident passed in April and the podcast was supposed to be a countdown to the day, but due to COVID-19 the man behind it was pulled into a government task force (He's an intensive care and infectious disease specialist) so it was put on hold. Lucky for you, they managed to release the last episode at the beginning of June so you can actually listen through the whole story. A small taste of the things you learn: the flaw that would eventually lead to the explosion was caused when an oxygen tank was dropped on the assembly line. The fall? Two inches.</p>
<p>Trailer is  <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p083t5q9">here</a></p>
<p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's time for Eames to come clean</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Happy Inceptiversary everyone! Go forth and frolic in the land of dreams!</p>
<p>Ty ty ty to LadyVader and Emma!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The second they were back inside the PASIV, Arthur ripped off his helmet and turned on Ezra, rage burning in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Who the fuck are you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ezra?”</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra pulled his helmet off slowly. His face was shuttered, his body turned away, and Arthur wanted to scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” was all he said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh? Just oh? Fucking tell me!” Arthur’s voice wavered embarrassingly on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “I thought you wanted to be free of masks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra hunched in on himself, the broad expanse of his shoulders crumpling up into anxious mountains.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra took a breath and faced Arthur, eyes still downcast. “I think you know who I am.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur did not want to be right. He wanted Ezra to say something, anything, to prove the horrible thoughts in his head wrong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra was looking at him, and Arthur knew he was right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re the Forger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was Arthur’s turn to crumple in on himself. “You’re the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fucking</span>
  </em>
  <span> Forger.” His voice had lost its fight. He was immeasurably exhausted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Voice small, he asked, “Was anything real? Was I just another mark for you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to reply, but Arthur couldn’t bear to hear the answer, to have to wonder if it was the truth. He cut Ezra off. "What’s your real name?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eames.” His voice was barely a whisper.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur left.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He went back to his own ship. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span>, for all its wonders, was too painful with memories of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eames.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sat in his pilot seat and tried to convince himself to just leave. To put his time here in the back of his memory and sort out the logistics of being a pirate alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames. Ezra. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ezra who was Eames, who was the Forger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The Forger, who had been the bane of Cobb’s existence. A wickedly good pirate, stealing away their marks a dozen times over the years, often posing as a ship in distress to lure people in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d seen the back of his ship so many times. He’d always send a message with an emoticon wink and a </span>
  <em>
    <span>catch you later, darling.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d known who Arthur had been from the beginning. Had he been laughing to himself at pulling yet another one over on him?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All these terrible thoughts, but Arthur couldn’t forget the raw pain in Eames’ voice when he’d talked about his masks, his hiding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The questions tumbled around his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How could Arthur have just fallen for his story?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why had he been so desperate to believe Eames, to think that he had made a friend with some random grad student?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To think that maybe, maybe, he’d found more than a friend?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shut down his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The truth was, he’d never hated the Forger. He’d admired his nerve, even as Cobb had cursed Eames out. He’d thought that maybe, one day, he would meet the Forger, maybe in a bar, maybe as Arthur was stealing one of his marks for a change.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His heart ached in his chest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gripped a lever on the console, focusing on the feeling of the hard plastic in his fingers, how the groves were worn down in places from the years he’d spent flying it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He let out a guttural breath, leaning his head against the screen in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought about leaving.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He couldn’t.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not this ship. Not this place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not this metal and leaf ship that had felt like more of a home to him in the past two days than his own ship had in years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a part of him that was ashamed at how easily he’d let someone else into his life, how he’d fallen into the the gentle give and take, how he’d let go of some responsibilities like they were meaningless, and how good it had felt to let Eames worry about dinner while he just watched and made plans for the future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d nearly filled his moleskin with plans for the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> over lunch — what systems to examine, how to make the sleeping quarters into workable spaces when there was just a crew of two, even a vague schematic for how to expand a bed to fit two people comfortably. Distressingly wishful thinking, even before he’d learned the truth about Eames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d forgotten, for a moment, that he couldn’t grow used to relying on others, because others might leave, might die, might turn out to be someone else entirely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Himself, he could rely on. He was strong. He was fierce and professional and hard edges and that was what had kept him alive for years in space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Space was cold, and hard, but Arthur was used to that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur, in theory, thrived in that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He closed his eyes and pressed into the screen, willing himself to fall asleep so he could wake up and leave this dream behind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something flickering on the screen. Arthur pulled back to look at it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The ship’s coordinates were changing and they were… drifting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rapidly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a closer look at the screen. They’d been drifting for quite a while, miles and miles away from the spot of black where Arthur had found the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> (and Eames).</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked out the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The darkness out the window looked back at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was nothing there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>+</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames laid in his bed in his own ship, staring at the grey plastic above him, trying his hardest not to think.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at the clock. It had been nine minutes since Arthur left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His mind kept replaying the horrible look on Arthur’s face when he’d seen Eames’ ship. The betrayal, the brief sadness, and then the dull impassiveness it settled on.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course Arthur would recognise the ship. Eames had never been able to resist teasing him, even when all he knew was a name and a reputation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How could he have resisted him here, knowing what Arthur looked like when he was happy?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at the clock. It had been eight minutes since Arthur had left.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That couldn’t be right. He looked at the clock again. The numbers ticked forwards, nine minutes, ten minutes, eleven minutes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clock reset to two minutes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He checked the time on his wrist comm. The minutes ticked by as normal for eight minutes, just enough time for him to convince himself it had been his mind playing tricks on him, wanting to go back to before Arthur knew the truth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After nine minutes, the clock reset.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corridors yawned out in front of him and he remembered the strange feelings of when he had first been exploring, the tremulous feeling of things watching him, the noises, the shivering in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His watch was still replaying the same nine minutes. How long had it been doing that? How long had they been too distracted to notice as time soured around them?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned a corner into the command module and collided with Arthur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled back, throat tight. Arthur’s eyes were wide and beautiful and red and Eames couldn’t bear to think of his darling Arthur crying alone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur gripped his arms. “Eames, something’s wrong. We’re — the ship is — moving. Drifting. We’re being pulled by </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames swallowed back his apologies. “The clocks aren’t working either. It’s just the same nine minutes over and over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were terrible thoughts coalescing in his head. The time. The drifting. The slow sinister pull of something they couldn’t see. The creeping feelings in his spine, some leftover biological instinct, telling him to run, that there was a predator here, something that was getting ready to eat them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Those old monster gods of space who haunted the thoughts of humankind for centuries, devouring everything, even time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could see the moment it clicked in Arthur’s head. His face drained of colour. “Oh God,” he said, “it’s a black hole.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames wanted to vomit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They looked out the windows of the command module at the vast nothing in front of them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s wrist alarm started beeping.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Someone was sending him a message.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Who is trying to get in touch? How will they escape the black hole? Is that how black holes work? (Sort of. Kind of. It's complicated.)</p>
<p>Two chapters left...</p>
<p>This week we go back to 1998 with HBO and Tom Hanks with the docu mini series From the Earth to the Moon. It's an in depth look at various parts of the space program. It's all available on dailymotion and you can watch all of the episodes or pick and choose the ones that interest you. My favourite is episode 5, Spider. It's about the process of making the LEM, that strange golden foil ship that actually landed on the moon.</p>
<p>Trailer is  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_3CH_azOMh4">here</a></p>
<p>Watch Spider  <a href="https://www.dailymotion.com/video/x6thqhc?playlist=x61f0p">here</a></p>
<p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Much love to Emma and LadyVader!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was Nash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur let the tinny message play out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m fucking coming for you Arthur. You and Cobb fucked me over and I want my payday.”</span>
  </em>
  <span> Nash’s voice was vicious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur swore. Of course Cobb had taken Nash’s portion as well when he’d split.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One crisis at a time. Nash was coming fast, but he hadn’t yet seen Eames or the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They could get away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looked at him. Eames was watching him with a terrible tenderness. Arthur’s heart clenched. He couldn’t bear it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Where is Cobb, Arthur?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gone.” He couldn’t bring himself to meet Eames’ eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames scowled, his body tight. “That—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s in the past. Nothing can be done about it, and we have too much happening right now to get distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames took a breath and nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looked at him, his lovely face, his big warm arms. He remembered the way his hands had so carefully plucked berries and diced tomatoes and cleaned the tank filters. Eames so clearly belonged with this ship. Arthur wasn’t going to let Nash and Cobb ruin that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You need to go. Take the </span>
  <em>
    <span>pasiv</span>
  </em>
  <span> and get as far from here as you can. We have a head start, so with luck you might be able to escape the pull of the black hole before Nash finds me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames made an abortive move, reaching out. His eyes flared. “I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> leaving you here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur sighed. “Nash is going to find me again sooner or later. He won’t forget. I’ll try to find you after.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They both knew it was a lie, a fantasy that his ship would be enough to fight Nash and escape the black hole, but Eames gave him the mercy of not calling him on it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur said, “Just— before you go, tell me — how much of this was a lie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames said, careful, “This time here, everything I said, everything I did, it was all true. I have lied to you exactly once, and I have regretted it every moment we’ve spent together.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur closed his eyes to compose himself. Eames’ hand landed gently on his arm, the ghost of a touch and Arthur leaned into it ever so slightly, let the touch turn into a press, warm skin against skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a shuddering breath. This was them, on one side a black hole, on the other a man bent on revenge. This place had only ever been a break, a side trip into lives they might have had. A dream, barely there and fading fast. The universe was coming at them again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames could have this, though. Eames could take this ship and the garden he so clearly loved. A garden that did not deserve to end up unceremoniously eaten by a black hole in a forgotten corner of the galaxy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was about to push Eames away, to make him leave, make him understand, when another call came in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I can see you hiding behind that ship Arthur, don't think of running away now.” Nash’s voice curled between them and Eames’ touch turning into a grip, fingers digging into Arthur’s arm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fuck off Nash, I don’t have your shit, Cobb does,” said Arthur into his comm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Liar. You’re the one who deals with logistics Arthur, everyone knows that. You handle the money, You— holy shit—“ He broke off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur frowned. “This was all Cobb. I don’t have your goddamn money.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames’ eyes bored into his. Arthur was trapped in his gaze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nash said, “You’ve been holding out on me. Is that the Midas ship you’re using as a shield?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames broke his eye contact and swore softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur hung up. "Eames, you have to go. Please. You get your ship and fly away, escape the hole, he just wants me. I won’t have your death on my conscience.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames was looking at him again, just a breath away. “Absolutely not pet, we’re getting through this together or not at all. Also, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn’t have weapons, so how are you planning on fighting him </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> avoiding being sucked into the black hole?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s stomach dropped. “Eames—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames lowered his head and pressed a kiss to Arthur’s jaw. “It’s you and me, love. I would never give that up. You better turn around the ship so we can see what we’re dealing with. I’ll head on back to my ship and get the guns ready.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then he left, leaving Arthur standing in the command module with his heart in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gave himself three breaths to pull himself together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the end, Eames was right. Alone and trying to protect the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Arthur didn’t stand a chance. Eames had made his decision, so who was Arthur to force him to do anything else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He set about starting up the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Between fixing the engines and finding out about Eames, Arthur hadn’t actually had a chance to fly the ship. The layout was familiar enough though, and he went through his preflight checks, flicking on the computer, the navigation, the ship-to-ship transmission.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled a pair of battered headphones from the velcro strip above the computer. “Eames, are you there?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames' voice crackled through. “Always, darling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur let a tiny smile play in his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, he hit the button that started the engine. Underneath him, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> shook as it rose from its slumber, coming to life under Arthur’s fingertips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The distant hum of combustion grounded him. The ship was old enough to not have the fancy new anti-shake technology of Arthur’s ship and he was happy for it. It felt the way flying was supposed to, moving parts coming together to force miracles from metal.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He strapped himself into the pilot seat. His mind tried to make the darkness outside into shapes, looking for the black hole, a spot more than black but actually space without light, but he couldn’t. Black holes are single points in space-time, not holes to fall into.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This black hole outside was still a baby. It was unseeable, too young to have built up an accreditation disk of swirling matter and the last vestiges of orange light around it. Young enough, with luck, to not yet have an inextricable grip on them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With enough force and enough time they may be able to escape.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe. If the thrusters held up. If Nash didn’t shoot them down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If they weren’t already past the event horizon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur gripped the thrusters and turned the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> around to face Nash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was nearly blinded by the glow of the blue sulphur and diamond planet. When he and Eames had been outside, the hulking side of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> had blocked it from sight, but now it loomed large, Nash’s ship a tiny black silhouette against it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were getting closer too. Already the planet seemed larger than it had when Arthur had landed, being pulled in by the irresistible pull of the black hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No, Arthur corrected himself. It wasn’t that the blue planet itself was being pulled in. It was space itself contracting around the hole, taking all matter with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur, do you read me?” Eames pulled him from his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needed to focus. He put away all his thoughts about the science and the possibilities of the black hole and forced himself into the present.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My ship is too low on fuel to go fast enough to escape the pull of the hole, I’m going to stay docked and shoot from here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur took a breath. It was a dangerous thing, to shoot from a standstill, connected and unable to absorb the kickback. But it was suicidal to dive into a black hole without the resources to get out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He said, “Good luck, Eames.” And then he powered full speed towards Nash.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could feel the grip of the black hole, the way the ship, even at full capacity, was too slow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nash was coming in fast. Already Arthur could make out the shape of his ship, the bulbous escape pods protruding from the sides like grapefruit, the oversized blasters hanging low.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m ready,” Eames said over the comm. “I can see him just out my window, but I can’t swivel my gun that far without hitting the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Could you be a dear and manoeuvre us a wee bit to the west?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur made the turn “Is that better?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perfect love, ta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nash was still just out of blaster range, so they held their breath and let the</span>
  <em>
    <span> PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> push ever closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only sound in the command module was the whine of the stressed engine and the hiss of Eames’ comm turning on and off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then —</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A blast of light was barrelling towards them. Arthur rolled the ship to the side to get out of its path.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames swore over the comm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur shouted, “Are you alright?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m okay.” Eames sounded out of breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur pulled them around again so that Eames’s blasters were facing Nash and Eames fired a round that just grazed the side of Nash’s ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nash was close enough now that Arthur could see the light in his cockpit.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His ship-to-ship beeped with an incoming call. He accepted it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I just want what you owe me!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t owe you anything, Nash. Get out of here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not leaving without some of the treasure on that ship, I will shoot you down if I have to. Don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur snarled. “Over my dead body are you getting this ship.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames fired again, hitting one of the escape pods. The blast knocked Nash offside, and his answering volley of blasts spun out wildly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur ducked and dodged and struggled to keep control of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> as they veered about. He looked at their speed and his heart dropped. They were still going too slowly to break away from the hole, and the thrusters were at full capacity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Eames he said, “We’re too heavy, we’re going to have to start dumping things to make up speed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It would be tricky, because the force of venting the excess fuel and matter out into space so fast would spin them around.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gripping the thruster in one hand, braced to turn them the opposite way, he hit the button to empty the ballast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They jerked to the right and a cloud of shiny particles bloomed to his right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nash fired again and Arthur dove through the particle cloud to get away, a miniature star system drifting in front of his window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he cleared the cloud, Nash was nearly on top of them. Eames shouted through the comm, “Arthur, to the left!” and Arthur turned without a second thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames shot Nash clear through his engine. The light in it spluttered and died, but the ship kept moving forward, the pull of the black hole too strong.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur checked their speed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were still too slow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames shouted. Nash had turned his guns back to fire at them again, and Arthur just barely managed to avoid the shot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’re still too slow, you have to jettison the ships—“ Eames cut off as Nash fired again. He fired back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur froze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The shot grazed the golden foil of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comm link crackled. “Arthur, it’s the only way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames was right. Each ship weighed hundreds of thousands of pounds, too much for their tired thrusters. It was the solution Arthur hadn’t let himself think of.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a lever on either side above him that would force jettison any ships docked. Arthur looked at it and thought of his ship, the one Mal had loved so much, that had been his home and his prison and his livelihood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled the lever. There was a clang as the ship fell away and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> jerked, speeding up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames kept shooting at Nash, buying them time to get away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looked at the speedometer. Still too slow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Arthur, you have to do my ship too, it’s the only way—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Absolutely not Eames, get back here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There is no fucking time. You have to do it now!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He fired and Nash disappeared into the great maw of the black hole. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“Arthur! Now!” </span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled the lever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a shower of gold foil flakes falling off as Eames’ ship was jettisoned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The last thing Arthur heard over the comm was a shout, then static. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames’ ship was swallowed into nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Eames?” Arthur shouted, hailing Eames on his private wrist comm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur flipped down the sun shield and drove straight towards the glimmering diamond planet.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm so sorry. Join me here next week for the very last chapter!</p>
<p>On this second last chapter, I wanted to to something a little different. Instead for going back to the 60s we're going to look at NASA now and the end of the Cassini mission to Saturn. After being in orbit for 20 years, they purposely drove the ship into the planet, trying to gather as much information they could before it burned up in the atmosphere. </p>
<p>You can watch the documentary on Netflix as one of the episodes of their show 7 Days Out. (Also, the whole show is really exceptional, so if you like that episode, you might also like the rest.)</p>
<p>Trailer is  <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXGg_J0tHyE">here</a></p>
<p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>And at last, we arrive at the end.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>HUGE HUGE thank you to LadyVader for posting this while I'm off camping!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Arthur passed above the ghostly haze of the blue planet, barely registering the way the diamonds bounced light around his console. He kept flying until he could no longer feel the pull of the hole, further and further, away and away from where he’d left Eames’ ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, with a finality that shook him, the light of the blue planet was extinguished. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the only thing left as far as he could see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He kept trying to comm Eames, putting out a ship-wide message for him, clinging to the hope that he had gotten off his ship before it had fallen away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Arthur had forced it into the black hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no answer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The engine rumbled on and Arthur crushed his heart into ever smaller pieces.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stared out at the galaxy, the nothingness between him and anyone else. The emptiness of space wormed its way inside him, taking his emotions and hiding them far away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no one left for him to love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He flew until he was sure he’d left the hole far behind, and then he stopped to take stock of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>PASIV</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He ran through the instruments check first. There were no master alarms going off, and the levels of fuel and oxygen were holding steady. While the jettisoned ships had torn away some of the protective foil, there didn’t seem to be any places where they'd left a gaping hole.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moved around the ship, methodically checking rooms and cables and windows for damage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He checked everywhere until he could no longer avoid the place that held his last remaining hope — the port where Eames had docked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stopped in front of the airlock tunnel that had connected to the door of Eames’ ship.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The airlock door was sturdy and cold. There were no windows, just the gray metal and handle and peeling paint that simply said </span>
  <em>
    <span>West Docking Tunnel</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Next to the door was a light. The label underneath said </span>
  <em>
    <span>Do not open if light is on.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If the light was on, someone was using the tunnel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The light was off.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur clenched his fists, trying to contain his grief, to stop it pouring out of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had to check, had to make sure that Eames was really gone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He opened the door and there, hovering and collapsed, was Eames.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Little drops of blood hung in the air around him, but his chest was moving up and down and he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>alive.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur flew to him. Eames had a nasty gash on his forehead, and Arthur could see a bloody spot on the side of the door, but he still managed to open one eye and smile at Arthur.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good, darling. It’s wonderful to see you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur could barely breathe. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>happened?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” He set about examining the laceration.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames grunted. "I made a small miscalculation about my angle when I dove from my ship. It hurt a bloody great deal and claimed my wrist comm as sacrifice, sorry love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur realised that some of the drops of blood around Eames were not blood at all, but bits of smashed machinery and glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a scrape and a bruise forming where the communicator had once sat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames sighed. “I think I bungled the door, too. It locked me in here as soon as it was able to close, probably thought the outer door was still open.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur, finished for the moment with Eames’ head, started checking Eames’ body for any other wounds.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames laughed and it was the best sound Arthur had heard all day. “As lovely as it is to have your hands all over me, I’m afraid it’s all for naught, I’m perfectly alright aside from a wee bump on the head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur was too busy trying to tamp down on his joy and trepidation to respond. He pulled out a prepackaged cloth from his suit pocket and held it against Eames head to stop any potential bleeding. “Hold this here, let’s go get you bandaged up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames gave him an indulgent smile. “I think the bleeding has stopped, pet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don't talk.” Arthur said roughly. "I want to get a good look at it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought he’d seen a first aid kit in the kitchen, so he pulled Eames down the corridors, trying to convince him to stay still, </span>
  <em>
    <span>goddammit</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the kitchen Arthur pulled open drawer and after drawer until he found the red box velcroed in place.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took it back to the table where he’d left Eames, who looked at it with distaste. “Darling, if I’m going to die, can I at least die in the nursery where there is good lighting?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t even fucking joke about that.” Arthur was startled by the venom in his own voice. But he did bring them into the nursery. The light really was better anyways, and he’d already grabbed the wipes and gauze.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames dutifully held the cloth to his head and let Arthur find a spot for them. He settled on a patch of wall relatively clear of ivy and turned them so they were sitting on it, threading their legs through the vines to keep them steady.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He studied Eames, making doubly sure that there were no other injuries he was hiding. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he met Eames’ eyes again he was watching Arthur, lips parted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur took an unsteady breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It took all his effort to keep his hands from shaking under the nakedness of Eames gaze but he prevailed, gently taking away the cloth so he could look at the cut.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was still oozing a little, but it had mostly clotted. He opened an alcoholic wipe and cleaned away the dried bits of blood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames hissed at the contact but he didn’t look away, looking up as Arthur hovered over him. His fingers gripped the vines.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur dabbed away, feeling better once the blood was gone. The cut was small and superficial. He pulled out the gauze and wrapped it, smoothing his hands across it, brushing Eames hair ever so lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames leaned into him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur took a steadying breath. “I need to check for a concussion now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur tried to remember his concussion checklist. He went through the motions, checking Eames pupils and getting him to follow his finger, but most of him was stuck on the fact that he was here, he was alive, he was okay.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames didn’t have a concussion. Arthur dropped his hand and they sat there, watching each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur ached to touch him again, to feel proof of Eames’ aliveness under his fingers but the moment felt too fragile, like any wrong move would break them apart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ever so tenderly, Arthur lifted his hand and brushed Eames’ bandage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames’ eyes fluttered closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur leaned forward and pressed a butterfly kiss to the lowest part of the bandage, just above his eyebrow. His thumb smoothed along the edge, and Arthur was only aware of this: the cool weave of the gauze and the heat of Eames’ skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames opened his eyes and caught Arthur's hand as it moved. Keeping eye contact, he brought it to his mouth and kissed the inside of his wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur shuddered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames carefully licked along one of his fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur could not hope to move, every atom of him focused on the slick slide of Eames’ tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames pulled away, his breath on Arthur’s wet fingers warm and heavy.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hesitated for a moment. Arthur stared at Eames’ ludicrously full mouth. He licked his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames mirrored him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, like a dam breaking, they fell into each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they kissed it was every nebula colliding, every star collapsing, every shimmering colour in a trail of fuel Arthur had ever seen. Eames pressed his hard body against Arthur’s and pulled his mouth away, lip balm smeared and glittering across his jaw. Eames laughed and he was alive, and everything was so, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> good.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He revelled in this moment, the absurdity that they had found each other and they had survived and they had won. He pressed Eames to the wall, rucking up his shirt and trading filthy kisses. He dragged his hands along Eames chest, his shoulders, finally letting himself feel his body.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames kicked off and used a vine to swing them around so that Arthur was the one against the wall, upright and lying down at the same time in the zero gravity forest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His body crowded Arthur’s, every part of him covered in Eames and he was lost. Eames mouth was hot and wet, burning a line from Arthur’s jaw to his collarbone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames pushed off the top of Arthur’s flight suit and started sucking bruising kisses into his chest. Arthur gasped, arching, back pressed against the cold metal and ivy wall, hands wrapped around vines for leverage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur reached down and dragged Eames’ ridiculous shirt off of him, letting it float away, and — and he had known that Eames had tattoos, curling around his biceps and peaking out his collar, but he hadn’t expected the constellations and planets and ancient alchemy symbols that covered his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames, who roamed the universe and had it inked into his own skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur pressed his mouth down, following Orion down to his bellybutton, nipping at the skin there, resolving to map all of Eames’ tattoos with his mouth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames growled and dragged Arthur up so he could kiss him again, tongue flicking into his mouth. Arthur’s hands threaded through Eames’ soft hair and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>pulled</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames hissed appreciatively and kissed down his chest, pushing off Arthur’s trousers, stripping him down to his underwear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur was so hard it hurt and Eames held down his hips to stop him from thrusting, winking up at him filthily.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur wanted everything, gasping and grinding in the air. He bit out “Eames—“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames came back up to kiss him again and reached into his underwear to grab his cock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur groaned into his neck, trying desperately to thrust but Eames had a knee between Arthur’s legs and kept holding him to the wall. Arthur shoved at his pants until Eames cock sprung free and Eames took them both in his big hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur was consumed. Every nerve ended in Eames, every thought was just his name and </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He moaned, the sound dampened by the greenery around them, swallowed by the leaves and flowers and roots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It did not take much for him to come, just a few twists of Eames wrists and the feel of their cocks moving together and he was gone, gasping into Eames mouth. Eames followed him soon after.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur untangled them from the vines keeping them near the wall and they floated out  among the plants, caressed by leaves and stray particles of dirt and whisper soft flower petals.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They drifted for a while, just holding each other in the golden light, until Arthur could no longer ignore the bits of come floating around them. There were some aspects of sex in zero gravity that were just too awkward to be borne. He pulled a cloth from the pocket of his suit tangled in the roots above them and shepherded the come into a containment bag.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames smiled and Arthur went back to him, trading gentle kisses. A vine reached out, as if to say hello, and Eames brushed a finger along it, smiling softly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me, now that neither of us has our own ship.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur laughed. “We’re stuck with each other, I think.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames grinned, then said, seriously, “there is no one else I’d rather share a ship with, love.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur’s heart felt cracked open and raw in much the same way it had the last time they had been in the nursery together. “I am so glad I met you here. I’m so glad we found each other. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d died.” The honesty caught in his throat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eames pulled him close. “Oh, darling. We have the universe at our feet. A ship to explore and everything in front of us. What do you want to do first?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Arthur looked across the nursery at the just visible Persephone on the opposite wall, with her eyes on the stars and her feet in the earth, and smiled.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>And that's all folks. Thank you for coming on this journey with me!</p>
<p>I came up with this story days before anyone outside China knew anything about Covid, so it was not intended to be a quarantine story but it became one anyways. I hope Arthur and Eames were able to keep you company through these past few months, and that everyone is staying safe and healthy and as mentally well as you are able.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, if you are reading this on the day I'm posting it (20th of July, 2020) today is the 51th anniversary of the moon landing! Isn't it nice how that worked out and was not at all planned!</p>
<p>On this last chapter we go back to basics with the video that everyone should watch at least once in their lives: the original broadcast footage of Neil Armstrong's first step on the moon. It's ghostly and at times hard to make out but it is the piece of footage that millions of people around the world watched on July 20, 1969, that day that humanity first walked on the surface of another planet. </p>
<p>The Smithsonian youtube channel has the 5 minute clip available to watch <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CtwSgvstl8c">here</a></p>
<p>You can see clips from the CBS/Walter Cronkite broadcast <a href="https://www.cbsnews.com/news/man-on-the-moon-50th-anniversary-of-the-apollo-11-landing-cbs-news-special/">here</a></p>
<p>And a short video from NASA about the feeling of watching it live <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w4wx_3XOrns">here</a></p>
<p>Thank you again for reading through this story with me. And a special thank you to those who commented ever chapter. You are the real MVPs of AO3. &lt;3</p>
<p>Thank you to LadyVader and Emma for help writing, and to my mom who watched so many space documentaries with me these past six months, not really understanding why we were doing all space all the time.</p>
<p>My next fic should be coming out at the end of the month for the Inception Big Bang!</p>
<p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading the first chapter! Please leave kudos or comments if you liked it! I write for people to read and I love hearing peoples reactions. It really gives me motivation to write!!</p><p>Also, at the end of every chapter I've decide to showcase one of my favourite early space program podcasts/movies/docs, because they've all heavily influenced this story. Today it's the BBC's 13 Minutes to the Moon podcast (Season 1). This is an incredible series about Apollo 11 and the moon landing. It takes you through the audio of the 13 minutes between the Eagle leaving the command service module and landing on the moon -- it has interviews with people who worked on the program, music by Hans Zimmer, and is so beautiful it hurts my heart. Trailer is  <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/sounds/play/p077ks53">here</a></p><p>Follow me on <a href="https://theskyandsea.tumblr.com">tumblr</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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